


Inconsequential

by felldownthelist



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Gen, Pre-Season/Series 01, Short, Siblings, Sickness, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 07:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21158033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felldownthelist/pseuds/felldownthelist
Summary: He’s had this dream before. It feels familiar enough, anyway.





	Inconsequential

**Author's Note:**

> In one version in my head when they were 23 or so Diego was having a really bad week and Vanya used to have a way easier time with him.

He’s had this dream before. It feels familiar enough, anyway.

Diego needs to leave. He needs to leave the place he is physically kept in, in the dream. He needs to be not there, and he needs that because there’s something bad here, rotting him apart as he tries not to breathe it in, but he needs to breathe to talk. Luther and Dad look down at him and they’re both so strong that he can’t fight through them, and they listen to him telling them that he needs to go but they aren’t listening to him at all even though they’re looking right at him.

The sense of urgency and frustration grows and Diego starts to yell, and then ends up pleading, begging. They won’t listen to him. The room is full of something so bad for him and don’t they care? He’s going to die. If he stays in here it’s going to hurt for a long time and he’s scared, he’s going to die.

Dad and Luther tell him to calm down. They frown at him as he hollers and clutches at his head.

Behind them, Vanya holds a stop watch, makes notes on a piece of paper.

He wakes with a start, somebody is near his feet and this is unusual enough that Diego sits up. He feels off, hot, but he can still throw a knife. There’s a muted shriek and the figure darts away. He wasn’t aiming to kill, just to startle while he got his bearings but they’re slower than usual to come.

“Diego!” Somebody is saying, urgently. “Diego, it’s me! It’s Vanya, stop, you’re sick, stop-”

And he kind of vaguely remembers now, oh yeah, Vanya. He’s sick. He should stop.

He’s half way off the couch anyway, might as well just land on the floor.

The rug is colder than the blanket had been.

“Jesus, okay, okay, are you okay? Do you know where you are?”

He grunts. Vague enough to mean anything. It’s Vanya. It’s only Vanya.

“You can’t stay there. Come on. I’m coming over. Just. Shit. Sit up for a minute, you need to drink some water at least. Can I take your temperature again?”

He’s propped upright. She’s surprisingly strong, his tiny little sister. A hand lands on his forehead and for some reason it makes him feel awful, like he might cry, so he bats it away.

“Okay, okay,” she says, exasperated now. Good. Better. God, why did he come here? He can’t remember why he did this. Vanya needs to be left alone, she needs to live her life and be normal and fine and not fucked up like the rest of them. She has a fucking apartment for fucks sakes, which is more than any of the other four of them which is fucking… so stupid. They’re so stupid. They’re all so shit.

He should have left Vanya alone.

“Drink this, here are some pills,” she is saying, pressing things into his hands. He manages. She wouldn’t give him anything bad. It’s Vanya. “Alright,” she says, when he’s drank the water and there’s no more in the glass. “Do you need anything? I think… I think you should sleep it out. If you can. That’s what I – that’s what I think you have to do. I’ll be here if you wake up or need anything.”

Little arms help him back onto the couch. Somebody tries to take off his boots. He kicks out at them weakly. He’s pretty sick, he figures, slipping back into unconsciousness. He didn’t even land it.

He’s fucking freezing. It’s the water, it’s so cold. It wasn’t cold last time, but Dad’s testing things and it’s fucking freezing this time, something to do with physics and whether he can still throw right when he’s cold, he’s under water or something and it’s cold, it’s cold, it’s fucking cold, fuck you Dad, why is this even necessary, why does he need to be here?

And even though she never was in real life, Vanya’s there, right behind him, holding Dad’s coat while his sleeves are rolled up to play with the monitoring equipment and shit that he’s got attached to Diego – so his coat doesn’t get _wet_, and Vanya is just helping him, she’s just helping him, she’s –

“Diego!”

“Fuck you,” he manages, but what, that was a dream? Again? He’s awake? He doesn’t know.

“Diego,” again. “Come on. Come to the bathroom. Just get under the shower. You’ll feel better, I’ll change the blankets and you need new clothes, I’ll bring you different ones, just come on, help me out, I can’t carry you there.”

“No,” he says, not sure why but always just inclined to disagree.

“Okay, I _will_ put you in the bath in all your clothes,” Vanya says, then, and Jesus he’s uncomfortable, he realizes, everything he has on is soaked through and not in the ‘out in the rain’ way. Diego starts to notice the full body discomfort. He… he wants Eudora. No he doesn’t. He’s not thinking about Eudora, or her apartment, or the academy, or the other academy, or how fucked up he feels –

“Okay,” he says, interrupting his own thoughts, tries to sit up. Vanya is there, and she helps him for some reason, and he hates her for what she was doing in his dream so he shrugs her off and stumbles all the way to – how did he know this was where the bathroom was? And falls sideways into the tub.

It’s going to bruise.

“God, Diego,” Vanya huffs. She does something with the taps and pulls his boots off. “I know it’s flu season but you’re the last person I’d expect to be knocked on your ass like this.” She doesn’t go for any more of his clothes, and the tub starts to fill and he just goes boneless, doesn’t care, wants the fever part of this to be over.

“Don’t fall asleep,” she cautions. “I’m going to get you some more water.”

He’s genuinely unsure as to how he ended up in track pants and a t shirt. Vanya can’t have done it. He’s not in the bath any more, either, he’s on a bed. Something feels better, like a storm has moved on. He feels vaguely hungry, thirsty. That’s probably a good sign. His head is throbbing. His bare feet are bothering him.

Diego goes to stand up and promptly sits back down, vision spinning, balance fucked.

“Hey, hey,” Vanya’s voice comes into the room, and she’s coming after it. “What are you doing, get back in – uh, on, bed, I guess, Diego you can’t just get up like that.”

“I need,” he says, and is suddenly viscerally reminded of his dreams. Where he dares to need and it’s just not allowed. He is not needy. He should learn how not to need.

“I’ll get you some water,” Vanya says.

“Fuck off,” he complains, and he doesn’t even know why at this point.

“Shut up,” she returns, and he doesn’t know why it surprises him. Maybe because she’s never done it before. “Why would you say that?” She asks, less sharp. “Why did you have to wait until you got this sick to – you know what? Never mind. I’ll get some stuff and then I’m going out. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

What the fuck.

Diego waits a moment and she’s back, slamming a glass down next to him, some pills besides that. “Asshole,” she says, shaking her head, and then she’s grabbing a scarf from the closet and then she’s gone and the front door is being slammed and…

Maybe he shouldn’t have trusted Vanya. The drugs are making him feel weird. He feels fragile, strange, like anything could come along and bust him open. He wants to be somewhere safe. There is nowhere safe. Diego drifts, feeling wretched, his head in his hands all curled up on the bedspread.

“Hey,” says a voice, and it must be a dream because nobody ever comes back when they storm off like that; no comfort ever comes in the aftermath of hard words. A dip in the side of the bed indicates somebody sitting down. God, he feels like shit. “Hey,” again. “I’m sorry.” It’s slightly slurred. Fuck. He can’t smell anything. He wonders if he would smell alcohol if he could. It seems the most likely. He didn’t know Vanya drank. “I’m really sorry.” Color him shook. “I shouldn’t have left. I’m glad you’re okay. Just.” What the fuck. “You know what’s shit?”

He does. He doubts they’re thinking about the same things, though, so.

Vanya carries on. He feels a heat radiating from where she’s sitting, even though they aren’t touching at all. He’s in her bed, he realizes, belatedly. Wow. He feels even more like shit. He can’t get up. It’s not because of the fucking flu right now either.

“I just think it’s shit that you guys were meant to be these superheroes and you’re just, you know. You’re just like everybody else. You get the flu. You get… shit. You get sad. All those stupid comic books make you look like you had the best time. It’s just. I wanna, you know. I think I’ll write a book. I’ll write a book about how bad of Dad it was to do it all.”

He can’t agree with her, he just waits to see if there’s any more. More than anything, he strangely wants to be touched. It’s been a while since he felt like that. It’s been a while since he’s seen any of his siblings though, and he thinks it might be fucking with his head, seeing Vanya. Maybe he just needs to leave as soon as possible. Why the fuck is he even here!?

Except – except, of course he’s here. It’s Vanya. She has an apartment and a job and a life and she knows how to do normal things, not like Diego who doesn’t have any fucking clue how to do normal things. Normal things like have conversations with his girlfriend and not keep secrets and not hate his brother and not fumble through social interactions where he doesn’t understand the constant references to movies and TV and sports and… fucking… normal things. Vanya does normal things. She’s like everybody else. Ordinary.

He wants that so badly.

If he was like Vanya he would still be at the police academy. Eudora could live at his apartment instead of him always crashing at hers. Because Vanya…

Vanya…

Diego loses his train of thought.

“I’m going to do it,” Vanya is saying, decisively. “I’ll write about every shit thing that he did to you all. And I’m going to write about how shit it was to share everything with six assholes who think they’re better than me.”

“What are you talking about?” He manages, then.

“I don’t think you’re an asshole on purpose,” she’s saying, and he feels vaguely nauseated. “Just, you know. I think it would piss Dad off. I think… I think…” she trails off. Diego looks up and sees tear tracks on her face. She hadn’t sounded like she was crying. Then again, did girls ever –

Fuck, Eudora. No.

“Get a grip,” he tells her, before he passes out.

When he wakes up he thinks his fever or whatever is done. Pretty much done. He feels better at least; can think straight. Which is why he can parse Vanya, on the floor by the bed, stinking like alcohol, and wants to kick her until she wakes up and tell her not to be so stupid. Where has she been? Who was she with? How does she expect to be able to protect herself? Fucking Vanya.

Diego gets up, uses the bathroom. Finds clothes that look like his, laundered and folded.

When he goes to leave through the front door, embarrassment and denial about his half baked memories of the past few days – fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s only been a few days, right? Probably. He still feels like crap but he’s got his head about him again, and he’s being a shit brother he knows as he just hurries out of the front door, glad Vanya isn’t awake.

But he needs to forget that this ever happened at all.

It’s inconsequential.


End file.
